


Nor a Father to tuck them in

by TrashyTime



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Could be seen as Dead Dove, Cthulhu Mythos, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fridge Horror, M/M, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Other, Tentacles, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/pseuds/TrashyTime
Summary: Written for the Horror Exchange.Geralt nearly dies. Thankfully a being takes him in and makes him better, blunting the trauma of the healing and feeding with projections of Eskel.Real Eskel, not dream Eskel, has some words and then some comfort for Geralt, after everything is over.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Monster(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	Nor a Father to tuck them in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbitdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/gifts).



The last thing Geralt remembers is the mob throwing him into the lye lined pit. The agony of the wounds competes with the harsh sting of the lye on his skin. The fumes make his eyes burn as he squeezes them shut, hoping to make his body move, despite the blood loss and poison in his system. 

His brain is still aware when his body gives up the fight and succumbs to it's wounds. He can not move anything, yet still he aches with how tired he is, not just in body, but in mind. 

A small part of him, a tiny, worn thin part of him, wants to just rest a moment. 

The touch of something leathery to his face is almost welcome. The third time it strokes him from temple to tip of chin, along his jaw, he no longer smells the lye. The fifth time he no longer smells the blood. 

There is an awareness he is being dragged and moved, but nothing registers, just the low hum that throbs through him. 

It is almost what Geralt once imagined a father might be like, when he was so very young. 

He opens his eyes, and looks up, past his dark curls, forever in his eyes, to the many fronds of his father. Warmth fills his heart as he is held in his many limbs, carried to the large tree that is their home. 

Geralt _wants_ with an ache so much more painful than wounds. Even as he knows something isn't right, he wants so desperately to rest that he lays his chubby soft cheek on the broad chest of his father and lets the hum wash through him. 

He isn't sure when he falls asleep, wrapped and secure in the many arms, that hum suffusing his bones. 

He knows when he wakes, it is in a world not real. He knows this is just a dreamscape but can't find it in himself to care. Reality fades in importance as a smiling Eskel, chubby fat from too many sweets and a soft life they never had, laughs in his ear, crowing about how good the day will be. His hand tentacles wrap Geralt's and they dash off into the woods, shouting as they enjoy running and climbing trees. 

Time becomes a blur, Eskel and he grow older, hugs becoming gentle touches that slowly caress him, as they share a kiss under the singing stars. Both still soft, both still with human eyes and the plush warmth of hearty summers. 

Geralt traces Eskel's head fronds, the tentacles curling around his fingers, reality and dream blending and warping to mix together. The cilia grasping at his fingers even as a gentle kiss is pressed to his mouth. Geralt closes his eyes and opens to the kiss. To the complete lack of pain. 

His eyes want to leak, some nameless emotion flooding him, but nothing comes. The hum raises in volume, and Eskel wraps him in his tentacles, slipping hand tentacles in soothing patterns down his back and sides. He hugs his first, longest, truest lover. While he knows this Eskel is not his, not the man he loves, he opens himself to the comfort of the many arms caressing him. 

He twines his fingers and pulls him in for a kiss, deeper than before, and the world waivers around them. Colors that don't exist, that he has no name for, flash in and out of existence as he helps not Eskel strip his ruined armor. 

There is no pain, when the armor comes off. His skin is sensitive but whole. Gentle touches trace his body, trace his lips, his ass, his chest, his cock. No part of him is unexplored, as he lets himself be caressed with such careful devotion. 

When it progresses to Not Eskel slowly licking him open, pressing a cock to his mouth as cilia slowly pry his ass open, Geralt swallows him down eagerly. Time loses all meaning, as he is filled time and again. 

Geralt feels no hunger, no pain, no ache. There is only the song in his mind, echoing in his soul, as he slowly is released from the dream. There is a tentacle deep in his mouth, and another deep in his ass, but he doesn't worry about breathing. It is done for him. Some part of him is vaugely aware he should be panicking. 

The creature before him is the size of a fiend. The many tentacles wrapping him and supporting him may well be just the being's fingers, for all their size is so diminutive in comparison. 

Despite everything, Geralt feels safe. Not just safe but utterly content. 

The first words he hears, real words not hums or ideas of words, come from the cavern entrance, beyond the edge of his sight. 

Eskel, real Eskel, climbs up and over the massive horse wide limbs with stunning familiarity. "You are lucky Norfadder had tentacles in the area. What were you thinking going to a black dot town?" 

Geralt blinks, frowning as Eskel seems to be completely at ease with the tentacled behemoth above and around them. He is confused by what tentacles in the area means before he knows, without really knowing how. Tentacles winding through cave systems, intangible till Not Father chooses to manifest them. Sensing and interacting with all the world through these tentacles. When he blinks, he swears he sees a small tentacle loosely wrapped around Eskel's waist, both over and under and through the clothes all at once. 

His eyebrows lift, even as Eskel gets close enough to run a hand over the new scar Geralt is sporting, that spans his ribs and across his hip. 

Eskel's face looks haunted, and a tentacle comes up to caress his cheek as if trying to soothe him. That seems to snap him out of it. 

Eskel rolls his eyes, scarred cheek tugging to the side with the motion. The quirking lift of his cheek leaves the scars puckering and pulling almost like a living thing as he grimaces. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You saved him and healed him. Even fed his stupid ass. Now let him up so I can chew him out properly." 

The tentacles slowly retreat from Geralt, and his mind struggles to encompass the fact that he swears the tentacles pass through him as much as sliding out of him. Eskel's chest is there, the spikes of his armor digging into Geralt's shoulder where he is held tight to him. Geralt feels boneless, as if he's been running between towns while carrying Roach. 

Eskel's voice is wry, breath damp and smelling of the bitter licorice he likes to chew. "Yeah, it takes a bit to get your feet under you. Seriously, what were you doing in Glenhaven?" 

Geralt blinks then says, "I wasn't in Glenhaven? I was in Holstadd." Eskel's eyes narrow and he reaches for the tentacle that is and isn't around his waist, focusing as he does when casting spells. 

Geralt slowly works on getting his feet under himself, still leaning on Eskel, on very painfully real, hard and lean Eskel. Who scrunches his face and rubs his scar. "Fuck. They changed their damn town name. Still total black dot." He grumbles, while Geralt's eyebrows can't decide on scowling or raising. 

"You seem, more familiar with Not Father?" He half states the question, Eskel not bothering to look sheepish. "Yep, Norfadder patched me up a few times." He waves vaguely to his face and the scar that seemed to cover his left lung front and back.

Geralt has often wondered how Eskel survived some of the scars he carries. Geralt heals from things that would kill the other Witchers, but some of Eskel's scars dwarf Geralt's. He never thought the answer would be Not Father. 

There is a pulse of comfort, the sense memory of dark curls and his own chubby cheek resting on a broad chest as he was carried to a home by something, someone, not a father, yet feeling every bit as comforting as one. 

Geralt's mind doesn't know what to do with that. It doesn't know what to do with the colors that fade in and out and the way Not Father is and isn't and exists in all of his senses and none of them all at once. So he does the only thing he can. 

He focuses on Eskel. 

"So, you ever going to tell me about the tentacle sex, or saving it to drop on me like your snorting drugs with succubi?" Eskel scowls and shoves at Geralt, then fists his hair to kiss him. 

The kiss is nothing like the dream. Teeth press to his lips and his naked flesh is pinched and poked by the armor. There is the semi-rancid taste of potions, hidden under the tang of licorice. Geralt clings a little harder to Eskel, as the kiss breaks. Eskel clenches his jaw then says quietly, "when I felt and saw what Norfadder showed me of you, I-" he stops then tries again, voice thick, and eyes trying to dampen despite their mutated biology. "Geralt-"

Geralt leans in this time to start a kiss, something slower, a bit closer to the dream, but good for all it seems too gentle to exist in reality. "Norfadder was there. I am here. We are here. Come on. Let's go celebrate, okay? Then we'll go get Roach back." 

Eskel snorts and rolls his eyes, both Witchers moving towards the cave entrance with the comforting weight there and not of a thin tentacle resting on their skin, naked and clothed, it remains. A soothing reminder of the Father they never had, and will always have, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes it was actually intended to be horror from the get-go on a reread and I left it on that note intentionally, because while it is comforting for them? Unreliable narrator makes for some tasty fridge horror (I hope). 
> 
> Still makes Lovecraft spin in his grave fast enough to power the planet, either way. 
> 
> I liked the little touch at the end too much to erase it despite worrying it was heavy handed.


End file.
